Page 23 of A One Woman Job

“You could be saving a lot of lives by quitting your jobs.”

“I can’t.”

A whimper leaps out of my mouth when he presses the violin bow to the juncture of my thighs, right along that wet valley, dragging it up and down, up and down. “We’ll discuss your job later.” He cuts the station a sideways glance. “For now, let’s dowhat we came here to do. I’m getting jumpy with so many people around you.”

In a haze, I glance around the train station and spot four people, in total now, the woman in the sunhat long gone. “It’s practically empty.”

Instead of responding to that, Koen taps the bow against my pussy. Tap. Tap. Tap. “If I had my way, I’d be the only one who comes within a hundred yards of this.”

“I can’t always let you get your way.”

His right eye ticks. “Case in point, we’re in a train station when I’d like to be banging your fucking brains out in every room of our house.”

I trap a moan with my lips. “Our house?” I murmur a few seconds later.

“Everything that’s mine is yours, Meg. I’m laying it all at your feet.”

My heart squeezes up into my throat and I’m forced to blink away the moisture in my eyes. Is he still going to feel this way after I tell him I met him under false pretenses? That I have an agenda that involves sending him back to an unhealthy and dangerous lifestyle?

“Is it possible to fall in love with someone so fast?” I say out loud, failing to limit the words to the inside of my head.

“No,” he says, his voice unsteady. He drops the violin bow back into his lap and cups my cheek, turning my face so I can see the gravity in his eyes. Enough gravity to fill the cosmos. “I’ve loved you since the bathtub.”

“I love you, too.” If my heart constricts anymore, I’m going to flatline. “Maybe weshouldgo home.”

I’ll tell him everything once we get there. I swear.

His lips twitch. He’s coldly beautiful when he’s speaking about murder. But when he’s amused, he could pass as aHollywood heartthrob. “One song, then we’ll go. I want you to hear the music that plays in my head when I look at you.”

10

Koen

Isettle the violin onto my shoulder and place my chin in the leather chinrest.

My bow waits on the strings for my equilibrium to restore itself.

Meg just told me she loves me.

Right on the heels of finding out I murdered a man for her protection.

I’ve found the one woman on this earth who could love a monster. Who could love me for exactly what I am, no qualifications. I think there’s even a forbidden part of Meg that is excited by the predator inside of me, and I’ll be grateful for that until the day I die. If the danger lurking inside me keeps her safe and makes her wet, as a bonus, I’m going to be the last one to question that blessing.

My bow begins to move on the strings. I’ve never played a happy song in my life and this music was only composed in my head, but it’s the most accurate portrayal of my feelingsfor her. The high-pitched beginning and the slow, winding drop into dizzying notes of desire, obsession, commitment. There’s the lighter section to represent her making paper airplanes and flying them in my living room. The way she teases me. The way she lifts the veil of darkness every time she walks into a room.

It's a song just for her, just for us—and she weeps happy tears as she dances to it, still clad in only my shirt, which falls to her knees, and a pair of sneakers. She leaps onto benches and pirouettes like a ballerina, her dark hair loose and wild. There is no one like her. She’s a treasure.Mytreasure. I’ll never, ever, ever let her go.

As the song begins to wind down, she collects a few dollar bills from an elderly couple and I roll my eyes at her, but continue to play, my gaze drawn to the flashes of bare thighs, her pretty tits bobbing beneath the shirt. She drops one of the dollar bills and is forced to bend over to pick it up, reminding me she’s out of panties. Wearing none, because I refuse to let her go home and haven’t been able to stop touching her, talking to her, staring at her, bathing and feeding her long enough to go shopping.

Christ, I can’t keep her in my clothes with no underwear indefinitely.

I’ll remedy her lack of clothing first thing tomorrow.

Probably.

For now, she has this hard cock to deal with.

The song ends on a scrubby, off-key note to symbolize my blood rushing south…and she stops pirouetting, her hair settling around her shoulders, hazel eyes wide with awareness. Dawning heat. She recognizes the sentiment behind the ending and she wants to fuck, too.

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